Introduction to My Poetry

My poetry is a reflection of the experiences that have shaped me, the battles fought both inside and out, and the lessons learned from the scars of life. Through ink and words, I share pieces of my soul, stories of strength, resilience, and vulnerability. Each poem is a testament to the journeys I’ve walked—through pain, love, loss, and growth. Below are two works that dive into the heart of my journey, where words and emotions intertwine to create something raw and real.

Ink & Iron: The Story I Bleed

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I was forged in fire, ink and iron, a pen sharper than the knives they threw at me. Words became my armor when fists and whispers bruised, each page a battlefield where I fought unseen wars.

Bullies sharpened their tongues against my skin, but I held my silence like a soldier at dawn, waiting, watching, knowing one day my voice would thunder louder than their jeers.

I marched through deserts, boots heavy with duty, war painting my soul in shades of loss, sand and sorrow settling in the cracks of my heart. Deployment stole my time, my touch, my presence—letters home carried more love than I could hold.

Then love itself unraveled, a home once solid now an echo, a ring turned to rust, a promise undone. Yet, from the wreckage, three stars still shone—my daughter, my sons, my reasons to stand when my knees begged me to fall.

I have been incarcerated in my own mind, a prisoner of past regrets and silent screams, but my words break chains where hands cannot. I bleed ink, I breathe poetry—a writer, a warrior, unshaken, unbroken, free.

© Nelly Vee

#InkAndIron #WarriorPoet #FromPainToPoetry #UnbrokenSpirit #MyStoryBleeds #FreedomInWords

The Road Was Never Meant for Me

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The road was never meant for me.

I grew up without a father—without his voice to guide me or his hands to steady me. At 43, I still don’t know him. No face, no voice, no memory, not even a name. I used to tell myself it didn’t matter. But the truth? It did. I just learned to live without him.

In my teens and twenties, I carried that absence like a weight I couldn’t put down. I thought being a man meant proving I didn’t need anyone. I ran hot with pride, let my anger speak when wisdom should have, and made mistakes I couldn’t take back.

Then I became a father myself.

No manual, no guidance—just me, figuring it out as I went, trying to be something I never had. Now, after all these years, I still wonder: Am I doing a good job? Do my children see me the way I wish I had seen a father of my own? Do they feel safe with me, or do they just tolerate me? Do they look at me with admiration, or do they see my flaws louder than my efforts?

I wish I could ask them, but I don’t. Maybe I’m afraid of the answer. Maybe I already know it.

Now, I move differently. I no longer try to prove myself to the world. I try to prove myself to them. I try to give them what I never had—love without conditions, strength without fear, wisdom without pain as its teacher.

The road I once forced myself to walk—one built on pride, anger, and survival—was never meant for me. And I hope, because of me, my children will never have to walk it.

© Nelly Vee